Yet Another Final Battle Fanfiction
by Weirdly
Summary: Yeah...sorry about the whole overdone Final Battle thing. But I can't seem to stop writing them. However, this is pretty good, despite its slight cliche. HG, maybe som RHr, I don't know. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; J. K. Rowling does.**

**A/N: Hi.**

It is enough that Ginny loves him. Enough; enough to keep him going through the Final Battle. Just thinking: _Ginny is waiting for me._

She is waiting for him. Waiting for him to not only defeat Voldemort but to remember his love for her; remember the love she holds for him.

So when he approaches Voldemort, Harry James Potter is ready to live.

_Harry, Harry, Harry,_ Voldemort croons with a sneer in his voice, sounding too much like Lockhart for comfort. The not-man raises his wand, arm outstretched. _You die today._

_Such drama,_ Harry replies coolly. He throws his wand away. _I don't have my wand, Tom. Will you kill me, now?_

_Avada Kedavra,_ Voldemort incants, and the fatal green ray rushes toward Harry with the sound of death's wings filling his ears.

Harry does not move from the path of the curse. The Avada Kedavra strikes him in the heart, but he does not crumple to the ground. He breathes still.

_Heilende der Seele,_ he says, hand outstretched in front of him.

_Why is he speaking German?_ Bewildered whispers fill the battlefield, and Voldemort begins to laugh.

_German,_ he hisses. _Obviously trying to be a spell, as well. It didn't work Potter; I'm not dead._

_Vollständige Seele_, Harry says next, and rotates his hand so that his palm faces up.

_What—?_ Voldemort asks. He is tempted to start laughing again; but the spell has done something. A tingling fills him from his feet to the top of his head. He looks at his hands: no longer are they white and skeletal, now they are the milky white that they were when he was Tom Riddle.

_My lord!_ Malfoy gasps. _My lord! You—you look—you look like Tom Riddle again—I—do you wish us to interfere, my lord?_

_Nooo,_ Voldemort—Riddle—hisses, _no. Stay. I am now at my height of my powers—I—can—easily defeat this young upstart—_

_Gute Seele,_ Harry says next. His hand becomes a fist, and then his palm faces the bloodstained ground. _Gute Seele, sehen Ihre Delikte._

Riddle's life flashes before his eyes. Each murder he has committed—each pain he has caused—brings the soul he now has pain. Terrible pain.

No good soul can live with having done such terrible things; and Riddle's soul is what it would have been without the orphanage, without all the pain that made him evil.

He screams: _no!_

His soul sputters. His soul dies.

Now Riddle crumples to the ground, face blank. His body shrivels and wrinkles. It convulses into an old man, the old man that Riddle would have been by now.

_Gnade nach Ihnen_, Harry says finally, and brings his arm sharply to his side.

The last flutters of Riddle's heart stops. Now he is dead.

Dead.

Dead.

_Dead._

_Dead._

_Dead._

_Dead!_

_Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead __deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead_

_Dead!_

The chant goes on and on, exulting to the heavens in the fierce and cruel joy of the kill.

_Dead!deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead!_

_Dead!_

_Dead!_

_Dead!_

_Vengeance!_

_WE HAVE VICTORY!_

The final shout causes silence on the battlefield. The Death Eaters have sheathed their wands. They have lost hope, without their leader. Not even the most ambitious Slytherins make a move. Not to prove innocence, nor to harm any of the Order.

_Yes,_ Harry says, _we have victory. At a price. Lord Voldemort was dead before I killed Tom Riddle._

_How—?_ Cho Chang, one of the younger Order members, asks.

_I transfigured his soul to a good one,_ Harry tells them all. _And then I made him relive his worst deeds. No whole, healthy soul can take that. So it died. Then I coup-de-gras'd him._

_What—what about that Killing Curse?_ Zacharias Smith ventures to ask. _It—it hit you, right?_

_It killed the portion of Voldemort's soul that was in me,_ Harry answers. _And that is all. I want to be with my girlfriend, now. Ginny?_

A head of red hair raises itself from the battlefield. _Yes?_

_Come with me?_

_Of course,_ she says, and walks up to take his hand. He Disapparates them to who-knows-where.

_Now,_ Remus Lupin says, standing up. _Voldemort is dead! Take the Death Eaters, and let us celebrate!_

And thus begins the new age of peace, contentment, and Just Married signs on the back of Harry and Ginny's double broomstick.

The end.

**A/N (#2!): Hey, how was it? Please review, etc. etc. etc. Hope you liked it.**


End file.
